Ice Moon
by DeaD-VoRTeX
Summary: Based on D's Vampire Story, Coronet of Roses. One-shot concentrating on one of Kircheis' hunting trips as a newborn vampire (Can also be read as a standalone.)


**Ice Moon**

So he had been right after all.  
There really was something up ahead, by the side of the road. For several minutes, Bryce had been wondering whether or not his mind had been playing tricks on him, but now that he was close enough, he was able to make out more clearly the small, hunched over figure on the right side of the track, about a hundred or so yards in front of him.  
Curiosity quickened his pace, all the time making sure to keep a sharp eye on his surroundings. Bandits were all too common a problem on these plains, and he'd picked the worst time to travel – most likely, he was a walking target for the gangs of criminals that roamed the night landscape. Still, it wasn't as if he'd come unprotected. His fingers closed slowly around the sharpened dagger in his pocket – a movement that gave him assurance, despite his inexperience with such weapons.  
Eventually, Bryce reached the figure, though the moment he looked down, his heart jolted. He was only a boy – perhaps in his early twenties at the most – with dirty clothing and a head of matted blond hair that fell an inch or to his shoulders. He didn't appear to have noticed the man, who stood over him expectantly, the light from his single lamp casting a yellow cone over them both.  
"Excuse me, are you okay?"  
Silence. Then, ever so slowly, the figure looked up.  
He was handsome – Bryce could see that much through the dirt that clung to his face. Two eyes, a soft blue colour, sat amid pale skin and sharp, yet childish features that gave him a look probably far younger than his actual age.  
Gradually, he lifted a shaking hand, then motioned downwards. "M-my foot…"  
Bryce followed his finger to the point where he was indicating, his heart leaping into motion to see that one foot had, indeed, been twisted out of shape. It was difficult to tell exactly in the darkness, but from the angle it sat against the ground, it looked as if it had been broken at the ankle.  
"Does it still hurt?" At once, the man began to hate himself for asking such a ridiculous question, though what else was there for him to say? Truly, he was lost for words.  
The boy nodded. "A little…" He shifted on the spot.  
"What's your name?"  
"Kircheis," he answered shakily.  
Bryce repeated the word to himself. "And are you alone? What happened?"  
The boy opened his mouth, but swiftly closed it again. His eyes closed and his face twisted into a wince, as though he had been overcome by a sudden wave of nausea. For a moment, he looked as if he were going to keel over backwards, but Bryce managed to catch him just in time.  
Kircheis' head rolled back on his shoulders, his whole body trembling in the man's arms. He looked up at Bryce with pained eyes. "What are you doing?"  
"I'm taking you to the nearest village." Now that he'd said it out loud, Bryce knew his mind was set. He may not have been a doctor, but he knew a sick person when he saw one, and this boy was on the edge of death. If his directions proved right, then there would be a small village less than an hour away where the two of them could stay for the remainder of the night – and, hopefully, receive some kind of medical attention.  
Bryce couldn't help but feel a deep sympathy for the boy as he made about helping him to his feet. His body was limp from wear, and cold to the touch; chances were that he'd been attacked and left for dead by robbers, in which case there was a chance he had lost his possessions as well. Either way, the man was determined to help him – and if that meant diverting his course and finding an inn for the time being, then so be it.  
Kircheis held his breath as he stood upright, supported by the other's arms. His ankle hung loose against the ground – Bryce could barely bring himself to look at it, let alone imagine the agony the boy must be in.  
"Can you stand? Here." Carefully, the man looped Kircheis' arm around his neck so that his small body was fully supported by his own. Then, when he was sure that he was securely fastened, he began to make his way along the track.  
The next few moments passed too quickly for Bryce to begin to realise what was going on: one moment, he was standing, then the next, he was on the floor, back to the path. The force of something bearing down upon him was overpowering, thin fingers curling around his wrists and pinning his arms to the ground.  
All was still for a moment, but all too suddenly, Bryce felt something press against his neck. He struggled. One hand managed to break free and reach for the dagger in his pocket. His fingers wrapped around it. Then, in one swift movement, he whipped it out and drove it upwards as hard as he could.  
The figure froze. Slowly, his eyes travelled downwards to his own stomach, where they widened. It was difficult for Bryce to see amid the darkness and his own frantic disorientation, but it appeared that the blade had found itself in the flesh just below the boy's ribcage. At once, a sinking feeling spread through him – what had he done? A quick look at his hand told him that the tips of his fingers were coated in blood, and whilst he longed to wipe them clean, his body was rigid – it was as if he had been frozen.  
What happened next, however, was enough to make him recoil in horror.  
Kircheis reached down with his free hand, wrapped it around the handle of the knife and began to pull. Bryce whimpered as he felt the thin stream of blood spill onto his clothes. What was going on? A wound like that should have been enough to kill him, or at least stagger his movements; and yet the boy looked as if he were removing a splinter from his finger.  
Then, swiftly, Kircheis raised the dagger high.  
Bryce's shoulder exploded in pain. An agonised cry escaped him as he writhed beneath the piercing blade, but it was soon muffled by a firm hand which clamped down upon his mouth. Kircheis caught his eyes for a moment before he pressed down with his arm and lowered his lips to the man's throat.  
Bryce was helpless, immobilised. Each nerve in his body screamed out at the torment, every inch of his consciousness urging him to fight back – yet how could he? Even as he felt the cold touch of something sharp – teeth, probably – tear into the side of his throat, he found himself unable to do anything but lie and stare into the sky.  
And then, everything faded. The boy, his own will to fight… It was almost peaceful. As he gradually became less aware of the pain in his shoulder, he felt a hand wind in his hair and wrench his head back so that more of his neck was exposed. It was as if the strings that attached him to his own body were being worn away…  
The last grating breath escaped his mouth before he fell still at last.  
Slowly, Kircheis sat up. His eyes closed as he leaned his head back on his shoulders and took a deep breath, savouring the night air. He'd always found it necessary to take in his surroundings following a kill, to reacquaint himself with the real world and bring his senses back; but tonight, as usual, there was another taste that lingered upon his lips. He raised a quivering arm to wipe away the blood from his mouth and chin, then reached down and pulled back his top to inspect his bare stomach. The skin was pale, but unbroken. The wound had healed. The boy couldn't help but expel a small sigh of relief at that: so far, he had yet to come across a part of his body that hadn't recovered of its own accord from an injury, though he always liked to check, just in case. After all, he knew little of how his powers as a vampire worked – or, indeed, when they would cease to do so.  
Kircheis tried not to look at the man on the floor as he straightened to his feet. The breeze had just begun to pick up now, and with it came scents – faint, of course, but still detectable. There was a village nearby. His thoughts flicked back to Bryce's promise of taking him to seek medical attention. Perhaps if he were to follow this track through the plains, he would find an inn where he could shelter for the day – make up a lie that he was a traveller, or something similar. His own castle was too far away to reach before dawn. He cursed himself sharply for his poor planning.  
Still, he knew what he had to do now. A quick search of the man's pockets returned a small set of coins – enough for a bed, and even some company. No… Perhaps it would be better simply to rely on lodgings tonight. He could only imagine how he must have looked, what with his torn top and clothes soaked in a mixture of dirt and blood. He would have to be inventive if he were not to arouse suspicion.  
He was just about to leave, when all of a sudden, he felt a falter in his steps. Slowly, he turned, his eyes drawn subconsciously to the figure lying on the ground. The man was motionless, the smell of blood still heavy on his body. As he ran his eyes over him, Kircheis couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt pull at his chest; yet he tried his best to ignore that, instead turning back to the path.  
The moon was full tonight, its light frosting the track with an almost icy glow. As Kircheis began to make his way forward, he couldn't help but admire it – a singular beautiful thing in a world driven by shadows.  
The night was coming to an end. It was time to rest.


End file.
